


can you build my heart (with pieces?)

by suheafoams



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Study, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Sports, harin/dongmyeong, hwanwoong/dongju, runner!seoho, swimmer!geonhak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suheafoams/pseuds/suheafoams
Summary: With Dongmyeong usually comes another swimmer, a boy with sharp cheekbones and small but soft features, sporting well fitting clothes and the type of posture that initially has Seoho predisposed to be wary.Seoho’s first impression of Geonhak is that he’s shy-quiet, and smells like chlorine.(It’s funny, that the smell of chlorine starts to become a constant when Seoho’s never competed a day in the water. )
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 29
Kudos: 119





	can you build my heart (with pieces?)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is p dear to me, i managed to write it after throwing away a lot of wips and working through an intense period of writer's block/performance anxiety. it's a bit of a change compared to my recent stuff, but i wanted to explore something softer, sweeter, and shorter! :D 
> 
> hopefully it's a fun read, please let me know if you enjoy it :]

It’s funny, that the smell of chlorine starts to become a constant when Seoho’s never competed a day in the water. 

His domain is above it, on land, on gravelly, winding courses with hills and vast stretches of nothing beyond the boundaries marked with shapes in periodic neon. 

Depending on Mother Nature’s temperament, Seoho can come home from races with mud smeared up to his thighs, or with dry dust and pollen hovering on his skin, in the powdery crunch between his teeth when he clenches his jaw and then unclenches it to get the taste of exhaustion off his tongue. Rarer occasions have him smelling like wet grass and rain, his skin clammy with sweat and iciness that can bring consequences if he’s not careful. 

He’s lucky that his pre-race anxiety knows its place and typically doesn’t bleed into the actual racing part. Seoho has never been good at managing his emotions, simply represses them until they fight back and burst through the seams of imaginary boxes sat on for too long, but it might also be that this sport isn’t his end all be all in life. 

It’s hard to put hope into a thing as variable as the human body, especially when a runner’s performance is ultimately one of solitude. Seoho prefers playing a more even hand of cards, because indulging in every pipe dream imaginable minimizes disappointment in the long run, and he’s seen the way Hwanwoong bites back tears after hurtling himself over the finish line and internalizes red, flashing numbers that taste like a repetition of defeat and nothing close to victory. 

Seoho is every bit as greedy as everyone thinks he should be, just never open about it. 

_Could I have done more? Pushed harder? Hurt worse?_ is washed out by the waterfall rush of his pulse through his ears as his chest threatens to crush in on itself and the adrenaline fades into a steady ache in his muscles. Then it’s time to undo his shoelaces, drop off his time chips once he pulls them free, and put the _what if’_ s away into the back of his mind. 

That’s when Harin usually smothers him in sweaty hugs and heavy whacks of encouragement to the back that remind Seoho of horrible belly flops that are as painful as they are ungraceful. Hwanwoong usually goes off by himself to cool down and overthink, other teammates peeling off in twos and threes before Harin can trap them, so Seoho is typically first and only choice for the receiving end of the team captain’s boisterous pep talks prior to _and_ after races. If Harin had the opportunity, he’d give pep talks mid-race, too. 

Despite his volume only ranging from loud to louder, Harin is well liked. He’s got plenty of fans, athletes and spectators included, but more recently he’s caught the interest of a swimmer from their university team by the name of Dongmyeong, who drives out to their actual meets with unparalleled enthusiasm that Seoho can immediately see through. 

It’s not hard to put two and two together. Harin’s good looking, the boy-next-door type who likes to play drums on the weekend and bakes cookies for the team when he has free time. He’s a thicker build than most of the runners since he hits the gym to make up for all the weight he tends to shred down during practice, and his perfect white teeth and wide smile are somehow a great match to his thick, dark eyebrows that catch barely any light. 

Dongmyeong’s eyes sparkle every time he catches a glimpse of Harin, glowing even brighter if Harin spends extra time making conversation and laughs at a joke Dongmyeong makes before he’s called away (along with Seoho) to team obligations and can no longer entertain guest visitors. 

With Dongmyeong usually comes another swimmer, a boy with sharp cheekbones and small but soft features, sporting well fitting clothes and the type of posture that initially has Seoho predisposed to be wary. 

Seoho’s first impression of Geonhak is that he’s shy-quiet, and smells like chlorine. 

Dongmyeong, on the other hand, wears so much perfume you can smell his arrival before you hear or see him, and eventually he and Geonhak come around so much that Seoho’s conditioned into anticipating the sharp scent of pool water right after a thick wave of tropical flowers. 

At first, Seoho thinks Geonhak’s just being dragged along with Dongmyeong’s pace, perhaps an unwilling party in the wake of Dongmyeong’s insistence. He’s not sure whether Geonhak even wants to be talked to, but Geonhak comes out of his shell after Seoho tells him his face resembles _samgak-kimbap,_ bristling and puffing up like an owl in distress.

Geonhak’s laugh is cute, the sound of it fluffy and textured like pastel cotton candy and not at all alike to his low speaking voice. His eyes crinkle up, too, when he laughs, and Seoho thinks they look a lot like the crescent moons fortuitously embossed in the white ceiling of Seoho’s childhood bedroom. 

❖

Geonhak watches Seoho, sometimes, like a puppy waiting to be tossed a stick to fetch. 

Seoho has enough regrets to last a lifetime about people in the past he’s since lost the chance to be kind to, paths long diverged after converging once at an imperfect intersection, and he doesn’t want that kind of regret when it comes to Geonhak. 

Geonhak likes to wear t-shirts that run a size too small to look wider, more intimidating, but he’s fooling no one because his heart is just as soft and fragile as the sweaters he pulls over his head whenever it’s extra windy. 

So Seoho opens up even on the days he feels too brittle to be anything other than alone, lets his body heat bleed through where their arms are pressed together as Geonhak leans into him in the backseat of Dongmyeong’s Honda SUV. Geonhak holds his breath when Seoho drops his head to Geonhak’s shoulder, like he’s afraid Seoho’s made a mistake and will withdraw as soon as he lets out an exhale. 

Dongmyeong and Harin quiet down, too, looking between each other and the rear view mirror meaningfully. 

The sky is darkening, bubblegum pink and lavender giving way to a muted navy broken up by the scattering of stratus clouds. Traffic on the freeway is slow moving, and there are phantom raindrops dried on the windows of Dongmyeong’s car, left behind after a light sprinkle of rain yesterday. If Seoho stops forcing his vision to focus and lets it go blurry, the city lights of busy plazas beyond highway walls look like the glimmer of fireflies behind frosted glass. 

There’s tightness tugging at the back of Seoho’s skull along with a dull throb that he knows stems from sleeping poorly last night. He recommends the younger runners to get as much sleep as possible, but alas. Seoho has to keep his grades up even if it stretches him thin; he’s playing a wide ranging hand of cards at life, and he feels boxed in and trapped despite having planned ahead so that he never runs out of options. 

Dust underneath Seoho’s nails and his wind tossed, greasy hair are both reminders of the long day he’s had, and he should go straight home if he wants to even attempt getting his work done on time, but there’s nothing good in the fridge and Seoho has never liked eating alone much. 

“Tired,” Seoho mumbles, and his intentions clarified leave Geonhak free to relax and settle into Seoho’s rare offer for physical contact. 

“Sleep, then?” Geonhak suggests. His statements often lift at the ends, like he’s asking questions he doesn’t expect Seoho to answer. Uninvasive, but forthcoming in concern. 

“If you were a better pillow…” Geonhak makes a miffed noise, and Seoho laughs. His limbs feel like lead and overexertion, and maybe he didn’t stretch enough earlier. He suspects none of that will matter when he smells whatever’s wafting out of the restaurant they stop at for dinner. 

“Where does everyone want to eat?” Dongmyeong asks, and Seoho closes his eyes as Harin competes for dominance with Dongmyeong’s alternative music by rapid fire shouting options like _Chinese barbecue, dakgalbi, wings, hotpot—_

“Dongmyeong is asking for restaurants, Harin,” Geonhak says with a chuckle, interjecting only when Harin pauses to take a much needed breath, “not the one food group you live off of.”

“The key to a healthy Harin is lots of protein,” Harin replies, thumping at his chest like a drum. Without taking his eyes off the road, Dongmyeong mutters a joke under his breath that’s probably an innuendo because it has Harin flushing beet red all the way to his ears. 

Seoho dozes off before he can hear what they decide on, dreaming of emerald green swimming pools and sky white, cool tiles at the bottom’s surface. 

❖

There’s a strange permanence in Geonhak’s presence Seoho doesn’t quite register until Dongmyeong visits one of their meets without Geonhak trailing dutifully behind him. 

“Keonhee—Geonhak’s housemate, I mean, had something going on with his car,” Dongmyeong explains, when he sees Seoho’s raised eyebrow, a silent question. “Geonhak went home right after practice to help him figure it out.” 

Satisfied with the answer, Seoho ties the strings of his team hoodie into a bow, then looks back up to find Harin and Dongmyeong staring at him sympathetically. 

Seoho frowns. “What.” 

“Poor Seoho,” Harin stage-whispers, nudging Dongmyeong, “lonely without his favorite Geonhak to bully.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seoho says. He then changes the subject by telling Dongmyeong his cologne smells like flowers that have gone bad for months, which has Harin erupting in laughter loud enough to drown out whatever else either of them might want to say about Seoho’s glaringly obvious attachment to Geonhak. 

Seoho comes home with a full stomach but a tightness in his chest, feeling a little like a puzzle that’s lost its last missing piece.

Must have been the spice in the broth at dinner. Or Dongmyeong taking the last piece of beef without asking anyone else whether they wanted it. 

The wall side of his bed is filled with frog stuffed animals in nearly every variation of green. Nearly a third are all gifts from Geonhak, because he thinks Seoho’s favorite frog plushie isn’t very cute, and Seoho’s not sure when exactly Geonhak had become such a large shareholder in the fuzzy ensemble of Seoho’s amphibian friends. 

Seoho doesn’t hear Hwanwoong come home until he’s already standing in the doorway of Seoho’s bedroom, tilting his head and letting it rest against the frame with a soft _thunk_. “Didn’t see Geonhak today?” 

“Oh, Hwanwoong.” Seoho turns around. Hwanwoong is wearing one of his two nice shirts, which means he’s back from a date. “How was dinner with Dongju?” 

“Fineee,” Hwanwoong says, but he doesn’t seem interested in elaborating. “You squeeze the frog that looks most like Geonhak whenever you miss him.” 

Seoho nearly chokes. “I don’t—” he looks down at his hands. Soft, black beads for eyes stare up at him, paired with a small, kind smile stitched in cerulean blue embroidery floss. “This one doesn’t look anything like Geonhak.” 

“My bad,” Hwanwoong says, with a knowing laugh that makes Seoho half tempted to resort to violence. “No frog comes close to being as handsome of a specimen as your boyfr—” he yelps as he fails to dodge the bundle of clothes on the floor Seoho angles to kick right into his face. “I only speak _truth_ —” 

“Right,” Seoho replies. “Then what’s all that about paying attention in class when your notes always look like ants crawling off the page?”

 _is keonhee’s car ok?_ Seoho sends to Geonhak while Hwanwoong grumbles about all the papers he has to write and the two exams he hasn’t started studying for. 

_yes, i took him to the car shop and it’s in repair for now,_ is Geonhak’s reply shortly after. A minute passes before another text from him comes in. 

GK: _did you miss me ;; must be tough racing without your good luck charm around_

SL: _i don’t think good luck charms come after the race is already done?? plus i’ve only ever had a chicken come to my meets :0 have you seen him? he’s noisy and puffs up a lot_

GK: _hey.  
...pick up the phone, asshole _

“Why are you squealing,” Hwanwoong asks.

“Geonhak’s mad because I called him names,” Seoho says, laughing fearfully and holding his phone to his chest, frog plushie squished in between. “If I ignore his call he’s going to nag me later.” 

“That sounds like exactly what you wanted,” Hwanwoong says, with an unimpressed snort, “for your not-boyfriend to pay some attention to you.” 

He walks out of the room before Seoho can argue back, and the only thing Seoho can do is hold out his phone as far as possible from his body (while still holding onto the frog plushie) so that Geonhak doesn’t blow out his eardrums when the call goes through. 

❖

“Isn’t this inappropriate usage of school property?” Seoho asks, although it’s a little too late to be asking when he’s already dipping his toes in the pool. 

“You’re enemy shaped, so if anything you’ll be the one to get punished,” Geonhak says, ignoring Seoho’s exclamations of being _friend shaped, actually._ He’s already jumped in, and he’s got his arms crossed out in front of him, resting on the rough, uneven cement around the pool’s edge. “It’s also 6 in the morning on a Sunday so nobody’s here to stop us.” 

“Nobody’s here to stop you from pummeling me in a swim workout, you mean,” Seoho says. “Don’t you have any teammates you can torture?” 

“This isn’t practice,” Geonhak says. _This is for fun_ remains unspoken even if it’s written all over his face, and underneath the surface of the water, his fingers wrap around Seoho’s ankle, tapping once, twice. It’s windy, and Geonhak’s long bangs have been swept into his eyes, though they don’t obscure any of the twinkle in them. “Hurry up and get in before you catch a cold.” 

They’d stayed up late last night, just talking. Remarkably, Geonhak can turn chatty if he feels comfortable, and maybe all the teasing from Seoho had made Geonhak feel at ease, allowed him to unfurl from his usual prickly ball of pins and needles like a hedgehog who’d finally discovered its safe place. 

“Am I boring you?” he’d asked Seoho after a winding anecdote about growing pains and lessons learned the hard way, with an uncertain look to his eyes that made it seem as if he was scared Seoho would think his words or feelings were burdensome. 

Seoho hates to imagine who Geonhak’s been hurt by in the past. Maybe the hard muscle of Geonhak’s frame wasn’t built through years of swimming, but all the things he tried to shoulder by himself without ever telling anyone else. 

“No,” Seoho had said, his laugh coming out lighter than he felt, “but my arm is falling asleep because your giant head is crushing it.” 

Geonhak had gotten up in Seoho’s face, all empty threats as he pinched Seoho in the arms and waist, but the tension was gone from his shoulders and he was making that fluffy laugh again, the one that stirred up old memories of Seoho lying starfish on his trampoline as a kid and watching animal shaped clouds pass the world by. 

Then Geonhak had fallen asleep first while Seoho was explaining his dilemma over the best choice of thesis statement to use for his film analysis paper. 

“Turns out I was boring you,” Seoho had muttered, only half meaning it as he ruffled Geonhak’s hair and let his fingers linger in the soft, shiny strands for a beat longer than necessary. 

When Geonhak’s not coming straight from the pool, he smells a little like salt and citrus and maybe even the sea. Seoho had thought it might be jarring, but he’d felt silly as soon as Geonhak had made a soft whine in his sleep, for thinking security resided in the way Geonhak smelled and not everything else about him. It had been easier, to keep on attributing attachment to objects, sensations, emotions instead of the person responsible for them. 

Like how Hwanwoong’s dolphin shriek of a laugh means he’s so happy he can’t get any other noises out, and stupid sappy love songs playing in the kitchen means he’s thinking about Dongju and all the dates they’re going to go on the next time they have a free day. Like how Dongmyeong perks up even if Seoho says something borderline snide to him, because it means he’s getting attention that doesn’t feel obligatory, or how Harin getting even shriller than usual during practice means he’s trying to take the place of his cymbals back home and wash out his nerves with pure noise. 

Seoho isn’t clueless, but...

In an ocean of lonesome uncertainties, Seoho’s starting to think Geonhak’s the only exception, and that’s dangerous, to find anchorage in a heart that’s not beating inside of his own chest and hands that aren’t his to hold. 

“Do you know how to swim butterfly?” Geonhak asks, after making Seoho swim far too many laps and correcting Seoho’s freestyle form here and there until he’s somewhat satisfied with the progress they’ve made. 

Seoho knows Geonhak well enough, now, that he can tell it’s not so much Geonhak showing off as he is sharing an integral part of himself, imparting experience and knowledge that translates to clumsy affection that would otherwise be lost if you’re not paying attention. 

“No,” Seoho replies. It’s a partial lie, but he has self preservation, and the cross country team has a tempo workout scheduled for tomorrow’s practice. “Not really.” 

Geonhak’s very close. Seoho watches water droplets slide down Geonhak’s jaw and neck before he remembers he’s not supposed to. 

“There’s a first time for everything. Come here,” Geonhak says, ignoring Seoho’s feeble protests that butterfly stroke isn’t for the faint of heart and that he’s _extremely_ faint-hearted. “You’re going to be a pro in no time.” 

“Get away, you’re not my coach,” Seoho says. Strange that Geonhak’s hand resting on his arm makes Seoho’s heart squeeze in on itself, like Geonhak’s holding that, too, and not just Seoho’s bicep. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“And yet,” Geonhak says with a chuckle, “you’ve come all this way without actually saying no.” Using his free hand, he slicks his hair back with an easy grin, expression all lopsided and unguarded like he doesn’t care how Seoho sees him because Seoho will like him anyway. 

Seoho does (like Geonhak, so much more than he ever expected to). 

The smell of chlorine follows Seoho all the way home. 

❖

Seoho likes to think he’s grown out of possessiveness. 

Perhaps it was never an issue to begin with. Or just that Seoho has grown so used to pretending he doesn’t want anything because it means he never risks losing, never has to come to terms with something as raw, visceral, overwhelmingly consuming as desire. 

Even when he was young, he never really minded sharing his toys as long as the other kids didn’t mistreat them. In the wrong hands, though, something precious turns into something to destroy, and maybe that’s why Seoho grows up with a heart that’s closed up more often than not, letting people hunt down his likes and dislikes and fears instead of saying them outright because he’s half afraid of what they’ll do once they obtain that information. 

Sharing is the same with people, in the right circumstances. Love isn’t divided up into smaller and smaller pieces just because someone dear to Seoho makes a new friend even if their time together dwindles, and he’s never truly worried about being expendable, knows when to nip jealousy in the bud so that it doesn’t grow into something vicious, something unmanageable. 

There’s always someone who likes him more or less than he likes them, and it’s ironic that just when Seoho thinks he’s above caring about that sort of given in human relationships, Geonhak rolls in. 

Unlike Seoho, whose laughs range from genuine to confused to dismissive, all of Geonhak’s laughs are nice from the inside out. He works with kids at an aquatic center the next city over on the weekends, and he has the taste buds of a small child no matter how much he tries to argue with Seoho about it. He gets worked up easily, earnest in every emotion he expresses and diligent in every pursuit he takes on. 

Just a smile from him is enough to make a tired stranger fall in love, and Seoho is unlucky enough that he’s already more than halfway there. 

Seoho pretends not to know what Hwanwoong and Harin are talking about when they point out he and Geonhak have been spending less time together, that Geonhak looks a little like a kicked puppy when he can’t find Seoho at school. He doesn’t tell them what’s wrong, because there’s nothing wrong and Seoho’s chalking everything up to the stress of racing season and studies even though he never lets those things affect the way he treats people. 

(Geonhak had smelled like perfume, a few weeks ago. He’d only dropped by Seoho’s apartment to give back Seoho’s jacket because Seoho had let him wear it days before when Geonhak’d said he was cold, and all Seoho could focus on in that moment was whether Geonhak had ever hinted at a girlfriend.)

“Don’t be mean to Geonhak,” Hwanwoong says, eyes narrowing. He’s known Seoho too long to be fooled by Seoho’s attempts at nonchalance, familiar with all the ways Seoho can be temperamental and still barely show it. “He’s not like you. He can’t handle people being upset with him, so tell him what’s wrong and fix it.” 

“Plus, Geonhak’s lonely without his favorite Seoho around to bully him,” Harin adds. He says it softly, like Seoho might snap if Harin does anything more than a light touch on his cymbal-equivalent of a speaking voice, and Seoho’s stomach twists at the mirroring of words initially used to point out how much he missed Geonhak when Geonhak wasn’t around. 

❖

Seoho is lying face down in his pillows. His whole body hurts, and he hadn’t PRed in a race course they visited today for the second time this season. 

Disappointment sits in his stomach heavier than lead and leaves no room for an appetite, and even Harin had toned down his liveliness, reminding Seoho that he’d done more than well for someone coming off a recent injury. Seoho should probably roll out his calf muscles, but his foam roller is in the living room and Seoho is too miserable to crawl the distance. 

“Someone’s at the door for you,” Hwanwoong says, poking his head into Seoho’s bedroom. “Your floor’s a mess.” 

“Yours is messier,” Seoho says petulantly into the pillowcase, voice coming out muffled, and Hwanwoong snorts. “Is it a package that needs to be signed or something? I didn’t order any food.”

“Yeah,” Hwanwoong says. “Hurry up and go get it before they leave.” 

“I hope it’s a giant hammer to knock me out,” Seoho mumbles, lifting himself off the bed.

He’s still rubbing at his eye and running a hand through his shower-damp hair while he walks to the front door. He’s signed off on packages for Hwanwoong before, so he’s not sure why Hwanwoong insisted he come out—

When Seoho looks up, blinks his way through blurry vision that diffuses into clarity, he’s met with Geonhak standing on the tiger shaped doormat Hwanwoong bought when they first moved in. 

Geonhak’s dressed in a white t-shirt and black jeans that are ripped above the knees, backpack hanging off one shoulder. He looks so nice it’s almost unfair. 

“Were you sleeping?” Geonhak’s eyes fall down to Seoho’s bare chest, stomach. His expression is unreadable, and Seoho suddenly feels conscious of his sweatpants hanging too low on his hips. 

He settles for crossing his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t,” Seoho says, biting on his lower lip. 

“Oh.” Geonhak scrunches his face a little, deliberating for a moment before he’s offering Seoho a small smile. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Seoho says. He moves so that Geonhak can step inside and take off his high top sneakers. They’re a lot more beat up looking compared to when Geonhak first got them, the shoelaces gray and ends fraying, white star patterns smudged because of the soles rubbing against each other. 

“You weren’t answering your messages,” Geonhak says. “But I figured you’d be home, because you had a meet today, right? And Harin and Dongmyeong said you got a ride back with some other teammates.” 

“Phone’s on silent,” Seoho explains. “Forgot to turn the sound back on.” 

His eyes land on the box in Geonhak’s hand, a medium sized one with matte black lining and a plaid bow around it. Neat, delicate, but not commercial. 

“I’m not sure whether I made them properly,” Geonhak says shyly, laughing, when he sees Seoho staring at the box, “so maybe you should put them in the fridge first.” 

Seoho blinks, confused. “They’re for me? What are they?” 

“Hwanwoong told me you don’t let yourself eat chocolate for months because of training and racing,” Geonhak says, and Seoho’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He hadn’t realized Geonhak and Hwanwoong were close enough to be exchanging details like that. “Your next race isn’t until a few weeks from now and my teammate knows how to make really pretty ones, so I asked her to help me.” 

“I...thank you,” Seoho says, accepting the gift when Geonhak gently pushes it into his hands. “I like chocolate.” 

“I know,” Geonhak says, the corner of his mouth twitching, and the tangled mess of feelings Seoho has been shoving down to the bottom of his stomach unravels instantly in the wake of Geonhak’s amusement.

Seoho feels silly in so many ways, for being upset. “So the perfume was…” he mumbles absentmindedly to himself, smoothing out the grainy, semi transparent fabric of the ribbon on the box with his thumb.

“What perfume?” Geonhak leans in, to hear better. “Does the box smell weird? It could be Gahyeon’s, or the incense her roommate burns.” 

Seoho flushes pink, the heat of conflicted embarrassment diffusing throughout his face as he shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t smell weird.” 

“Oh,” Geonhak says. As if recalling something, he tilts his head. “Are you talking about the day I dropped your jacket off?” 

“I’m going to go put these away,” Seoho says, turning away and avoiding the question, but Geonhak traps him, fingers wrapping around Seoho’s wrist to prevent Seoho from leaving. 

“I was at Gahyeon’s place trying to make chocolates for the first time, that day,” Geonhak says. His eyes are bright, amber like, lit only by a warm orange glow from the dim lamp in the living room. “That’s why I came over so late. I still wanted to see you, and...” 

“Okay.” Seoho nods, frantically trying to escape the mix of understanding and relief written all over Geonhak’s face. He hadn’t thought he was so easy to read, but Geonhak had pinpointed exactly what was bothering Seoho almost effortlessly, and his grip on Seoho’s arm is a touch too firm, almost possessive. “I get it, Geonhak.” 

Geonhak watches quietly as Seoho turns the kitchen light on and puts the box of chocolates away into the refrigerator. Inside, there are only a few takeout containers, a few bags of vegetables that may or may not have gone bad, and cranberry juice stains Seoho should clean later. 

“Is your leg bothering you?” Geonhak asks. 

Seoho glances at him, startled by the unexpectedly sharp observation. “Yeah. I guess I put more strain on it today.” 

“Do you want me to help?” Geonhak asks. 

“Let me put on a shirt first,” Seoho says, agreeing. 

They end up in Seoho’s room, on his bed, Seoho leaning his back against the wall and Geonhak dangling one leg off the edge of the bed as he presses the pads of his fingers at Seoho’s calf and searches for knots in the muscle. 

Geonhak has given Seoho massages before. It’s another way he shows affection, and he’s expressed an interest in studying physical therapy when he has the time for it, mumbles anatomy terms sometimes like he’s mapping out diagrams he’s seen before on different planes of Seoho’s body. 

“Hurts?” Geonhak asks, when he feels Seoho flex his foot and looks up at Seoho, who has one eye squeezed shut and an equally tense line to his mouth. “Sorry, I think the knot’s here, so…” 

“Is my leg still there?” Seoho covers his eyes, like he can’t bear to look, and Geonhak smacks him on the thigh, laughing.

“Don’t be dramatic.” 

“Your only flaw is your brute strength,” Seoho says, whining in pain when Geonhak digs extra hard into his calf in retribution. “Everything else is perfect, but—” 

Geonhak lets go of Seoho’s leg, then, and Seoho thinks it’s just that Geonhak’s hands are tired and Geonhak’s taking a break until he feels palms land on his thighs. A passing touch at first, but they settle, squeezing slightly at muscle through the cotton of Seoho’s sweatpants. 

“You said you got it, earlier,” Geonhak says as Seoho stares at him, bewildered. “I don’t think you did.” 

Their faces are so close, and Seoho can’t seem to catch his breath, doesn’t know where to look. “What?” 

Geonhak’s lips are unbelievably soft and warm against Seoho’s mouth. Seoho hasn’t ever been kissed before, and he’s always imagined it would be a stressful experience, filled with panic and questions about where to put his hands and how to tilt his face and how to not be gross—

But he doesn’t have time to think about any of that, because Geonhak crawls the rest of the way into Seoho’s lap and gently cups the sides of Seoho’s face with his hands, all without breaking the kiss. He’s equal parts smooth and clumsy, accidentally kneeing Seoho in the thigh and laughing against Seoho’s spit shiny jaw when Seoho lets out a pained _oof._ He takes advantage of a seal momentarily broken to lick into Seoho’s mouth, hands eventually dropping to Seoho’s chest and sides and hips after Seoho opens up for him and lets Geonhak map out new territory the same way he maps out Seoho’s aches and pains through his fingertips in attempts to heal. 

Being touched like that makes Seoho burn up, recall with clarity the way Geonhak had stared at him in the locker room that Sunday morning after they’d gotten out of the pool. Seoho had pretended to not notice because he was afraid of feelings and overwhelmed with how hard they were to ignore, and attraction that intense was a foreign experience to him, making him even more reluctant to recognize it. 

He’s not sure why he was so hesitant, now that he has Geonhak practically on top of him and demanding his full attention. Geonhak’s thighs are warm and heavy on either side of his own, and he makes these really cute whimpering noises when Seoho sucks at his upper lip, and Seoho feels dizzy in the onrush of happiness he hadn’t ever thought he would be allowed to seek out. 

“Is...is this okay?” Geonhak asks after he pulls away, ears bright red and eyebrows pinched up at the center, his self-doubt kicking in after kissing Seoho for what seems like forever and yet still not long enough. 

“I feel like,” Seoho says, holding back a smile, “that might be something you ask before you kiss the shit out of someone.”

Geonhak’s eyes widen, and Seoho tries not to laugh out loud. “Oh. You’re right.”

“There’s another problem, too,” Seoho says. 

“What?” Geonhak looks worried, but he’s forgetting that Seoho hasn’t made a move to push him away, only pulled him closer. “What’s wrong?” 

“The froggies,” Seoho whispers, and Geonhak frowns, perplexed, before realization dawns on him and he looks at the line of frog plushies all over Seoho's bed, “We have to turn them away or they’ll be embarrassed—” 

“I fucking hate you,” Geonhak says, knocking his forehead into Seoho’s. 

“Kiss me again,” Seoho says, with newfound confidence that he thinks only comes because Geonhak is staring at him like he can’t decide whether Seoho’s wonderful or a complete idiot, and it’s an expression that’s more open than anything Seoho’s ever seen on him. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.” 

❖

“Dating you just feels like I signed up for another sport against my will,” Seoho says. They’re in the pool again, and Geonhak has only managed to lure Seoho here because he promised to make Seoho a hearty breakfast afterwards (major perk) and also kiss him (only a minor perk, because Geonhak’s kisses last too long and leave Seoho’s mouth bee-sting strawberry pink). 

“Like you don’t take me on the hardest trails just to see whether I start crawling up them,” Geonhak says. “At least in a swimming pool you’re not stranded with no way home if your body gives out on you.” 

“I would carry you if you were too tired,” Seoho says solemnly. “That’s how much I love you.” 

“Thanks,” Geonhak says. “I’ll do my equivalent and rescue you from the pool after shoving you off the diving board.” 

“Geonhakkie,” Seoho says, pretending to be scandalized. Geonhak would never actually do that, but Seoho’s going to be dramatic anyways. “Don’t you know I’m afraid of the water—” 

“Shut up,” Geonhak says, before he crowds Seoho against the edge, sloshing water around them and causing ripples. He kisses Seoho, and he tastes like pool water and mint candy on Seoho’s tongue. 

Later, as Seoho pushes himself out of the pool, making a loud splash with the force of the commotion and shaking his hair out of his eyes, Geonhak’s waiting for him with a towel and a self-satisfied expression that leaves a prickly warmth under Seoho’s skin. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Seoho asks. 

“No reason,” Geonhak says. He must not feel inclined to elaborate, but Seoho suspects it has something to do with last night. “Seoho, will you come watch me race next week?” 

“Interesting that you keep sneaking your way into more and more of my schedule,” Seoho says, wrapping the towel around his shoulders after Geonhak hands it over. “Feels a bit like you’re trying to take over it entirely.” 

“That’s the plan,” Geonhak says, with a wink. It’s horrible that he actually knows how to, despite how awkward he is with everything else. “Do you mind?” 

“No,” Seoho says. “You’ve always been a constant.” 

“Hm?” Geonhak asks, but Seoho just smiles at him. 

Rivulets of water are still trickling down Geonhak’s neck, shoulders, chest. Seoho’s allowed to look, now, and the permanence of Geonhak’s presence is starting to feel a lot less strange, these days, and a lot more like his to keep. 

  
  
❖  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ❖ gahyeon's roommate is dami shes the one who burns incense, yes dreamcatcher  
> ❖ i listened to a lot of twenty one pilots and woodz while writing this, in particular "chlorine"  
> ❖ thank you to julija and pacrim boy for always being so sweet to me, i've learned a lot about my own writing from both of you
> 
> **pls consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed :0 maybe tell me your favorite part? ♥**


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